


Companions

by Jay_Wells



Series: Tabris on Roleplaying [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Best Friends, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Life Partners, Mention of sex, Minor Character Death, Mostly talking, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 07:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10634817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Wells/pseuds/Jay_Wells
Summary: Alistair wants to keep the only other Grey Warden as close to him as possible. This doesn't work out quite as they expected.(Rated T for allusions to sex, alcohol and mild cursing)





	1. Chapter 1

“You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.” Alistair shook his head. It wasn’t like he was  _ trying _ to antagonize the mages, but how did they expect him to get off on the right foot when the Revered Mother deliberately chose him as an insult? 

“You’re a strange human,” a small elven woman stated from underneath the archway. 

“I get that a lot.” He took a step toward her. She flinched back from him and he stopped, worried that he’d offended her somehow. “Wait, we haven’t met yet, have we? I don’t suppose you’re another mage?”

He hoped they hadn’t met, because, Maker, that would be awkward.

She shifted from foot to foot and squinted at him. “No,” she said softly. Then, with more confidence, she said, “You -- you must be Alistair. I was looking for you.”

“Were you now?” He searched his brain for why -- wait, yes, Duncan must have gotten back with the last recruit by now. “You must be one of the recruits. I’m sorry, I

should have recognized you right away.”

“You’ve never seen me before. No offense taken, unless you mistook me for a servant.” She grinned when she said it, but her voice was dead serious. 

Alistair blinked. He didn’t know why she thought he’d mistake her for a servant. 

When she noticed his confusion, she pulled her white-blonde hair back to expose her pointed ears, as if she’d expected to be treated differently because she was elf. It occurred to him that there weren’t many elves in the Grey Wardens -- Alistair had only ever met one -- and almost all the elves in camp were servants. 

The woman nodded her head. “Anyway, pleased to meet you. I’m Kallian.”

“Nice to meet you, Kallian.” Alistair offered his hand and she shook it. “You know … there aren’t many female Grey Wardens. I wonder why that is.”

Kallian froze. After a moment of silence, she said through gritted teeth, “How about you  _ stop _ thinking of me as a woman?”

“Fine, fine,” he conceded, not sure what he’d said wrong. “Whatever you want. Have you met Ser Jory and Daveth yet?” 

“Daveth wouldn’t quit staring at my ass.” She sounded angry, and he guessed he understood why that was annoying, but Kallian was furious about it. He wondered what had happened before Duncan recruited her, but Grey Wardens didn’t ask about that. It didn’t matter who you were before you joined, just that you were willing to sacrifice your life to stop the Blight. “And Ser Jory was alright, I suppose.”

“Ah, well, I’m sorry.” He scratched the back of his head. “As a junior warden, I’m supposed to accompany you on your Joining.”

“Let’s get going then, I guess.” She turned around and started back towards the campfire.

As the passed the Chantry sister giving out blessings, she scowled at them. “Heathen.”

Kallian glared back.

“Wonder what I did this time?” Alistair said. He couldn’t imagine what, but it must’ve been something. It was always something.

“I doubt she’s looking at you,” Kallian explained. “Probably still mad at me. She tried to bless me earlier, and since, you know, everyone  _ else _ in this damned camp has mistaken me for the hired staff, I asked if it mattered that I was an elf. She said the Maker receives all who will accept him. I asked if he burned the homelands of those who didn’t.” She whistled. “Boy, she did not like that.”

“So, you’re not Andrastian, I take it?” he asked.

“I am.” She rubbed one of the rings on her hand. “Maybe it was unnecessary, but so was conquering the Dales. I know the Chantry says the Maker will only turn His gaze upon us once more when the Chant is sung from all corners of the Earth. I know. Still, destroying our homeland because we wanted to reclaim our culture … We haven’t recovered yet. And it’s exhausting, having to be nice all the time.”

She didn’t seem interested in conversation after that with him or the other recruits, content to slay darkspawn in silence. The only times she spoke at all were to ask him for bandages and to hand him her vial of darkspawn blood. Kallian was friendlier to the witches they came across than she’d been to anyone else.

Regardless, Alistair was glad she survived the Joining, especially since the other two didn’t make it. They needed all the help they could get fighting the Blight, and she had proven herself useful in the Wilds.

The Joining was smaller than his had been, with only three new recruits. Alistair wasn’t confident it was going well when Ser Jory’s eyes widened. “You want us to drink  _ darkspawn blood? _ Is that safe?”

“You may die, but your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” Duncan gestured for them to step forward.

Ser Jory shook his head. “It just doesn’t seem fair. If I’d known -- I have a wife, a child!”

“And wouldn’t you give your life to protect your pretty wife from the darkspawn?” Daveth challenged. “ _ I _ would give a lot more, if it would stop the Blight.”

Kallian nodded. “The Blight threatens us all, Ser Jory.”

“The ritual must be completed now,” Duncan said. He nodded to Alistair. “Alistair, if you will speak the sacred words.”

Alistair bowed his head. “Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And Should you perish, know your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day we shall join you.”

Daveth stepped forward first and drank from the chalice. He was fine for a moment, and Alistair let himself hope that all three would make it. But the cutpurse collapsed and twitched on the ground.

Duncan shook his head. “I am sorry, Daveth. Ser Jory, it is your turn.”

Ser Jory back away and drew his sword. “No, I have a wife and a child. There is no glory in this!”

“There is no turning back now.” Duncan parried, backing the knight against a pillar, and drove a dagger deep into his gut. He lowered Ser Jory with care onto the ground. 

Kallian gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. “No… ”

Duncan offered her the chalice then. The elf took one look at her fallen companions, inhaled deeply, and drank. She passed out almost immediately, but there was no movement as she hit the ground.

Alistair dropped down next to her and checked her vitals. Her heartbeat and breathing were shallow, and she ran a high fever, but she was alive.  _ Good, we need every Warden we can get. _ “She’s made it.” 

“Good, she should wake soon, then.” 

When she came to she sat up and swayed side to side for a few minutes, groggy from the ritual. Once she’d regained her bearings, she stared at Duncan, half angry and half frightened. “I can’t believe you killed Ser Jory.”

“There was no turning back at that point. I had to.” Duncan sounded exhausted. “I did not enjoy killing him, but he would not go through with the ritual, and only Wardens may know what it entails. Once you are recruited, you must complete the Joining.”

Kallian wrinkled her nose and frowned. She stood up and opened her mouth.

Alistair jumped in and changed the subject. Sort of. “I remember my Joining. Only one of us died, but it was horrible. Did you have nightmares? I had awful ones after my Joining.”

She glanced out of the corner of her eye at Duncan, unwilling to speak in his presence.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to speak with the king. He wants you to be there, Warden Tabris. Please join us when you’ve gathered your bearings.”

After he’d gone, she shook her head. “No dreams.”

“Not yet, I suppose,” Alistair said. “Well, welcome to the Grey Wardens.”

“Thanks.” Her voice was strained, but she sounded like she meant it. “I’d better go.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t keep Cailen waiting if I were you. He’ll start crying, I bet, and you wouldn’t want that.” He wandered toward Duncan’s fire, the coming battle on his thoughts. Tomorrow would be better, when it was all over and the darkspawn defeated and they could plan for their next move.

Alistair groaned. Cailen had sidelined him and the new recruit to go light the beacon, something Teyrn Loghain’s men could’ve done perfectly well on their own. Whoever told his half-brother about him owed him a personal apology if these were the results.

“This is an important mission, Alistair,” Duncan reminded him. “If the beacon is not lit, then Teyrn Loghain’s men won’t know when to charge.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So he needs  _ two _ Grey Wardens standing up there holding the torch, just in case?” 

Duncan shot him a hard look and nodded towards Kallian. Her ears pricked up at his tone. He sighed.

“The Tower of Ishal ... that’s the one outside the camp, where we came in, right?” She bit her lip, apparently torn. “I’m ready to go. Do we join you on the battlefield after we light the beacon?”

“You may, but it is essential that the beacon is lit at just the right time.” He met his eyes and waited for response.

Alistair conceded reluctantly. “I get it. I get it. Just so you know, if the king ever asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line. Darkspawn or no.”

Kallian snickered. “I don’t know. I’d like to see that.”

“Well, maybe for you,” he laughed. “But it would have to be a pretty dress.”

“Alright, both of you. Be careful and go straight to the Tower,” Duncan said. “I don’t want any heroics, from either of you.”

 

Kallian insisted on stopping by the quartermaster before they left to pick up supplies. “I need to purchase a pair of bracers. And stock up on medicine.”

“Why? You should’ve gotten them earlier,” he complained. “We shouldn’t dally.”

“I didn’t have any money,” she stated. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not have my hands cut off.”

“And you have money now?” he asked.

She glanced away. “I have a dress I can sell. And while we were in the Wilds, I … found some.” She scowled. “Don’t look at me like that! The corpses weren’t using it, and maybe you have the funds to be high and mighty about where your money comes from, but I don’t.”

She sold the quartermaster a beige linen chemise and off-white cote for ten coppers. Kallian looked miserable for the rest of the exchange, but carefully packed the injury kits and poultices into her bag and equipped the bracers. Even as they walked toward the Tower, she wrung her hands.

“Uh, are you okay?” He never saw a someone so distraught over a simple gown. “I mean, it’s just a dress, right? You can get another back home. I don’t think you’re prevented from going back once training and Blights are over.”

“It was my mother’s wedding dress,” she lamented. “But I suppose there’s nothing for it. Nobody needs it now, and I’m better off for having armor.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit. “I’m sorry. I kind of know what you’re going through.” 

“Yes, well, pay me no mind,” she sighed. “We ought to head to the Tower now.”

The trip to the Tower was more exhilarating than Alistair originally thought, and he regretted wishing for excitement. The bridge from camp back into the main fort was bombarded by catapults, and the projectiles exploded on impact. Both he and Kallian were knocked down. A handful of soldiers closer to the point of impact didn’t back up and laid still with blood pooling around them.

Alistair ran past them with a twinge of guilt. They were dead, and he needed to get to the watchtower and light the beacon. Kallian struggled to keep up and lagged a few feet behind him. He called out to her over the din, “Hurry, we need to light that beacon!”

His heart dropped when they reached the foot of the Tower of Ishal. Corpses bearing Fereldan heraldry lay scattered on the ground and small fires burned on the scaffolding. Something had gone wrong. 

Kallian stopped next to him and doubled over panting. “Why,” she gasped out, “Are we stopping?” She paled at the destruction. “Sweet Andraste, what happened here?”

The faint song in the back of his mind, his Taint, grew from its usual soft buzz, building into a symphony. He drew his sword. “Darkspawn, draw your weapons.”

She pulled her longsword off her back and a small dagger from her belt and crouched into a fighting stance. “My ears are ringing. Is … is that normal?”

“Yes,” he said. “Here they come.”

A band of hurlocks rounded the corner. Alistair threw up his shield to block one that lunged at him. It screamed in his face, advertising a mouthful of needle-like teeth and bad breath. He rammed his shield into the creature’s chest, shoving it a few feet away and driving his sword through its chest. “Alright, let’s go.”

He blocked another while he yanked his sword free and slashed at it ankles. It bellowed and stumbled, giving him the opening he needed to behead the beast. A few others surrounded him, and he fought them off, maintaining a few injuries. Once he dealt with them, he checked for Kallian.

She was across the clearing, finished off a genlock with a dagger to the throat. Behind her, a hurlock lifted its claymore to strike. 

“Blast it. Tabris, behind you!” he shouted, running toward her.

Kallian whipped around and crossed her blades to block the hit. The claymore stopped its arc where her dagger and sword met, but it left her vulnerable. As he neared, he saw her attempting to untangle her sword and hold the claymore still with just her dagger, but she had panicked when she blocked. Her dagger was on the bottom of the cross-block, and even if it wasn’t, she didn’t have the upper body strength to hold it with one hand. Even with two, the claymore was gradually lowering.

He picked up speed. “Hold it!”

She didn’t hear him and dropped her weapons down and slid in the mud underneath her opponent, getting in a kick below its belt as she went down. It howled and turned to face her. She had gathered a handful of sand and threw it into its eyes.

Alistair was ten feet away now. 

She blocked another swing, this time with her blades positioned correctly and held the claymore. Alistair came up behind the hurlock and drove his sword through its back. Blood splattered over Kallian. She spat it out as she shoved the corpse forward and stepped back.

“Thanks,” she wheezed.

“Yeah, well, nice one with the dirt.” He yanked his sword out and advanced toward the foot of the Tower, sword and shield at ready. 

She half-smiled. “When everyone’s twice your size, you learn a few dirty tricks.”

He chuckled. “Come on, it’s almost time.”

The Tower was overrun with darkspawn. A mage and a guard greeted them outside the foot of the Tower and offered to help them fight their way to the top to light the beacon.

“There aren’t supposed to be darkspawn here,” he muttered. 

“You could try telling them they’re in the wrong place,” Kallian suggested. After a brief pause, she added with uncertainty, “When I arrived, there were men outside the Tower keeping people out. They said Teyrn Loghain was securing it for use during the battle. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Maybe something went wrong?”

“He didn’t want us here,” she said, tripping over a stair. “At the strategy meeting, he wanted to send his own men, but His Majesty insisted on us.”

“King Cailen always had a flair for the dramatic. There doesn’t seem to be anybody on this floor, at least not this chamber. Let’s move on.”

The four of them slunk down the halls until they stumbled upon a roomful of darkspawn. There were about twenty in the room, outnumbering them five to one. He cursed. “Anybody have an idea?”

Kallian inhaled sharply. “That ballista, it’s loaded.”

“So?” Ballistae were siege machines, used to defend castles and forts from invaders. Considering the enemy was inside already, he doubted a ballista could help.

“So … it’s pointed right at them,” she breathed. “They’re all gathered in a clump down the hall, see? If we sent a bolt flying right at them, they’d feel that!”

“Right,” he said. They were clustered close enough to take out a few in one hit -- and one hit was all they were getting. The ballista was loaded, but he couldn’t see any other darts lying around. “They’ll hear us, though.”

“They won’t hear me,” she assured him. “I’ll go and fire the ballista, you -- ” she pointed at the mage “ -- hit them with whatever you got, and Alistair, you and the guard can charge them.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Alistair agreed. 

He slipped into position, ready to charge. The guard stood beside him with his shield held firmly in front of him. The mage readied a spell behind them, the hum of magic almost enough to drown out the singing in his head. Kallian skulked along the wall, blending in with the shadows. 

She fired the ballista, and the iron-tipped dart tore through three darkspawn and left at least one bleeding heavily. Before they could regain their footing, a hail of fire rained down on them, killing four more. Alistair heard a snarl at the end of the hall as he charged, baching his shield into a genlock’s squashed face. The odds were better -- three to one now -- but they were wary now, avoiding the mage by staying behind barrels and crates, even Alistair and the guard. Without a clear shot, the mage risked hitting an ally. 

“Alistair, duck!” Kallian screeched, and he dropped to the ground a rolled, just in time to see another dart hit a hurlock wielding a hammer. It didn’t die, but it was unbalanced long enough for him to strike it down. Kallian cheered as she entered the fray somewhere nearby. “Nice one.”

A fireball whizzed past him, singing his cheek and exploded on impact, killing two more darkspawn behind him, and Kallian cried out in glee upon taking down one of her own. Alistair had a rush of adrenaline. They were winning. He pushed forward, taking down two more. The tower guard bashed the skull in on one and lined up another for the mage. 

He ran his sword his sword through the last one. “It’s over.”

His companions gathered around him triumphantly. The guard held up a fist. “Huzzah! We’ve done it. Just a bit further, and we’re there.”

Kallian was bent over again, hands on her knees, and miserable. “There’s more? So tired … ”

They pressed on, confident that they would reach the signal in time.

 

* * *

 

 

Dead.

Cailen.

Duncan.

The Wardens.

Every single soldier.

He felt like he was just settling in, just finding his place in their order. He felt at home for the first time in his life, and now they were dead, slaughtered where they’d stood. And  _ Loghain _ was probably halfway to Denerim by now, if not already there, and living like a king. A traitor, who’d let their king die, serving as regent.

Alistair wondered what the queen would think of her father if she knew what he did to her husband.

The door to Morrigan and her mother’s hut squeaked open behind him and he turned around. Kallian walked out with a slight limp and a determined grimace.

Morrigan’s mother nodded her head. “See, young man? Your friend is alive. You worry too much.”

How could she say that, when Kallian was the only other Warden left in all of Ferelden? When there was only two of them, and neither of them knew the first thing about being Wardens? 

Kallian reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m sorry about Duncan.”

“You’re alright,” he breathed out. “Oh, thank the Maker.”

“Rather, thank Morrigan’s mother,” she laughed. “She’s the one who saved us. I do appreciate the concern, though, Alistair.”

“Without Morrigan’s mother, I don’t know where we would be. Still up on that tower, I guess.”

“Do not speak as if I were not here, boy,” the woman warned.

“I’m sorry, but you never told us what to call you.” He hoped his cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. 

She snorted. “Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind call me Flemeth. That will do.”

“Flemeth …  _ the _ Flemeth?” His eyes widened and Kallian shot him a glance and drew her hand in cutting motion across her neck frantically. “Daveth was right, you are the Witch of the Wilds.”

There was an awkward pause.

Kallian coughed. “I suppose we should thank you.”

“I suppose you should, if you know what’s good for you,” Flemeth cackled. “So, what are you going to do now? The Blight is still a threat.”

Oh, Maker, he had no idea. He hadn’t thought about it before. Duncan had known what to do, so Alistair had never planned anything. He figured he would do what he was told, kill darkspawn when he saw them and be a foot soldier. He never dreamed that he would be upgraded to the position of de facto senior Grey Warden.

“Alistair’s the real Grey Warden here, not me.” Kallian crossed her arms and turned to face him expectantly.

“We could go to Arl Eamon. He’s a good man, and Cailen was his nephew. He won’t let Loghain get away with this.” Eamon was a good man, Alistair knew. Whatever disagreements they had in the past, that was a certain thing.

Kallian wrinkled her nose. “An arl? Are we sure we can trust him?”

“He’s an honorable man,” he defended. He helped Alistair out when he didn’t have to. He gave him a place to sleep, food to eat, even an education.

“So was Loghain.” She pursed her lips. “What about the treaties?”

“Yes!” He’d almost forgotten about them, but yes, they had the treaties. The other factions of Ferelden had to help them. “We can recruit the elves, the dwarves, the mages -- oh, can we?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he kicked himself. He just asked a junior Warden if they could use the treaties. He waited for someone to reprimand him. Or laugh.

Kallian eyes sparked with hope. “Of course. Isn’t that what Wardens do?”

“Elves, dwarves, mages, this Arl Eamon … Forgive me, but this sounds like a real army,” Flemeth chimed in. “Before you go, there is one last thing I can offer you. Morrigan, come here.”

Morrigan sauntered out of the hut. “Shall we be having two guests for dinner, or none?”

She didn’t hide what she preferred. Alistair scowled.

“They are leaving, and you will be joining them.” Flemeth spoke matter-of-fact, as if this had been decided already.

“Such a shame -- what?” Morrigan’s wide eyes implied she dreaded the idea. 

Alistair could say the same.

A stray Mabari found them on the road to Lothering, covered in blood and mud. It circled Kallian, barking happily and nuzzling her leg.

“Disgusting mangy thing!” Morrigan shrieked. “Send it away.”

“He’s not mangy,” Alistair cooed at the panting dog. “Are you?”

Kallian knelt down and looked into the dog’s eyes. “I remember you, from camp? How did you survive the battle, I wonder.”

The dog barked and nuzzled her shoulder.

“Hmm,” she bit her lip. “I suppose you wish to come with us.”

He barked an affirmative.

“Then you shall need a name,” she said. “From today forth, your name is Alf.”

Alf barked happily and licked Kallian. She laughed and scratched his ears.

They fell back into silence as Morrigan led the way north. Alf bounded through the fields and, to Morrigan’s irritation, the mud, flinging it at the group until Kallian told him to behave himself. He whined, but obeyed his new mistress.

On the bridge, they encountered a group of bandits. Alistair expected they would step out of the way of an armed group, but they stepped out to greet them. 

“You folk seemed well-armed, and led by an elf, of all things,” their leader commented. “Well, you should know there’s a toll through here.”

Kallian stiffened. 

“They don’t look like refugees, maybe we should leave them alone,” a large thug whispered.

“Nonsense, everyone must pay the toll. That’s why it’s a toll, and not say, a refugee tax.” The leader laughed nervously. 

Morrigan glared at them. “I suggest you get out of our way.”

“Our friend is right,” Kallian spat. “Move.”

He was surprised at her venom. She’d been standoffish, but generally polite, except for the incident with the Chantry sister. Even with Duncan, she’d been more upset than anything else. She certainly hadn’t snapped at him.

“Tsk tsk.” The leader shook his head and motioned with his hand. The bandits drew their swords. “Really wished it wouldn’t have come to this. Attack!”

The battle was quick and decisive, and when the leader begged for mercy, Kallian struck him down without hesitation. The remaining bandits watched her in terror; Alistair didn’t blame them -- he was a little terrified of her, too. He’d only ever seen her against darkspawn. She gestured to the highroad. “Go, and leave what you stole here. Anyone not out of my sight in thirty seconds will die.”

They scrambled into the woods. 

“Was that necessary?” he asked.

She sheathed her sword and dagger. “They were robbers, Alistair. Who knows how many people they’ve killed, robbed or sent to their deaths. I am out of sympathy for  _ shem _ like that. If it bothered you, you should have said something.”

He didn’t respond.

They met a refugee family in the village.

“Those bandits took everything we had,” the father explained. “Even my daughter’s pet lamb.”

“Did you try talking to the Templars? They should run them off shouldn’t they?” Alistair jerked his thumb at the Templar behind him, ushering refugees seeking aid toward the Chantry.

The man shook his head. “We did, but they said they were too busy.” He turned his gazed on Kallian and pleaded, “If you can spare anything, I beg you. No one cares for a few elves. Surely you understand.”

Alistair watched a shadow pass over his companion’s face.

“The bandits are dead now. You can go collect your things now.” Kallian ruffled the little girl’s hair and smiled. “Perhaps your lamb is still there.”

The father shook her hand. “Oh, thank you. Even if we don’t get everything back, it’s good to know others will be safe.”

“I have a wonder, Alistair, if you’ll indulge me.” Morrigan’s lips pulled up in a wolfish smirk. “You are the senior Grey Warden are you not? I find it curious you let another lead … a new recruit, at that.”

“Do you now?” He didn’t know why she insisted on needling him.

“Is it Grey Warden policy to let such a new recruit take charge, or a personal one?” 

“Do you want to hear that I prefer to follow? I do.” Following meant he didn’t have to be responsible for his companions’ lives. If Kallian was willing to take it upon herself, then that was fine with him. Maybe it was selfish to let her lead -- she was even younger than he was -- but if she couldn’t handle it, he’d be there for her. He just hoped she knew what she was doing, because he didn’t.

Morrigan laughed. “You sound so defensive.”

“Just because you enjoy having power doesn’t mean we all do.” He grinned mischievously. “Your nose looks just like your mother’s, has anyone ever told you that?”

She huffed in disgust. Good.

“Let’s stop at the tavern over there,” Kallian said. “We can get something to eat, pick up some gossip, maybe figure out the deal with that Sten fellow.”

Kallian had found Sten locked in cage and decided she wanted to add the giant to their party, insisting that he was a perfect addition. Also that leaving him for the darkspawn was too cruel. She wouldn’t be deterred on this, and even Morrigan was on board.

“I thought you already made up your mind about taking him?” Alistair asked.

She shrugged. “I like to know who I’m travelling with.”

They were recognized the moment they stepped in the building. “Well, look what we have here, men. I think we’ve been blessed.”

Alistair groaned. “Loghain’s men. This can’t be good.”

“Didn’t we spend all morning asking about an elf of this very description? And everyone said they hadn’t seen her?” one soldier asked.

“It seems we were lied to,” another said.

_ Odd. how could they know to search specifically for us? _ The bandits had said Loghain outlawed all Grey Wardens, not them in particular. Which either meant he knew they survived or expected them to.

One of the lay sisters approached them. “Gentlemen, surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt more poor souls seeking refuge.”

She had to know they weren’t. Alistair’s shield bore the Chantry heraldry and Morrigan didn’t try to hide her staff in the slightest. Besides, no elves walked around as heavily as armed as Kallian because they were refugees.

“They’re more than that,” the soldier growled. “Stay out of the way, Sister. They’re traitors, and if you protect them, you’ll suffer the same fate.”

“Please stay out of this, Sister,” Kallian said. “I don’t want you hurt because of us.”

Alistair rested a hand on his sword and stepped forward between the sister and the soldier. He wasn’t about to let an innocent woman get caught in the crossfire. 

“Enough,” the second soldier said. “Take the Wardens into custody and kill the sister and anyone who gets in our way.”

Kallian brandished her longsword. “If you insist. Let’s make this quick, shall we?”

The sister surprised all of them when she pulled out a dagger mid-fight and joined them, moving fluidly. Loghain’s men, outmatched, begged for mercy. 

Kallian released them with a message for Loghain: “Tell Loghain that the Grey Wardens know what happened, and if he wants to cover up the truth, he’d better try harder.”

The men nodded and thanked her, fleeing from the bar like bats out of hell.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to encourage him to kill us?” Alistair asked. “It’s not like he doesn’t want to already. Like he wants us dead, but now he’s going to want us …  _ dead _ .”

“There’s only one kind of dead, Alistair,” Kallian pointed out.

It still seemed risky. “I guess.” 

The sister introduced herself and offered to join them on their quest. “The Maker told me to. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. I had a dream, a vision.”

Kallian glanced at him over her shoulder for help, but he didn’t know what to say. It didn’t seem right to take her away from her cloister, not when they were heading into danger. When he said nothing, Kallian said, “Sister Leliana, are you sure you wish to join us? You will likely be branded a traitor like us.”  
“Yes, I am certain this is what the Maker wants,” she replied.


	2. Chapter 2

They made camp for the night, but it was difficult to sleep with Kallian tossing turning and crying out in her sleep. Morrigan made her own camp away from the main fire to avoid it, and Leliana panicked. “Why is she doing that? Is she alright?” 

Alistair shrugged. “It’s a Grey Warden thing. I’ll talk to her and see if I can calm her down, maybe.”

Careful not to step on her, he sat down cross-legged next to her bedroll and tapped her shoulder. When that didn’t wake her, he shook her gently.

She bolted upright, trembling and drenched in sweat. 

“Bad dreams?” He remembered when he was initiated and woke up screaming from the nightmares. The other Wardens had walked him through it, answering hiss questions and assuring him being a Warden wasn’t all nightmares and Blights. He hoped he could do the same for her.

She stared into the fire, as if entranced. “It … it seemed so real … ”

“That’s because it is real. The Archdemon, it  _ talks _ to the horde, and we can feel it like they do.” He rested a hand on her back and hoped it was comforting. “That’s how we know this is a true Blight.”

“Are there going to be a lot of these?” Her voice was small and frightened. 

He wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t lie. “Unfortunately. Anyhow, when I heard you thrashing around, I thought I should tell you. It was scary for me at first, too.”

“Thank you, Alistair.” She leaned over and hugged him. “I appreciate it.”

“That’s my job: delivering bad news and witty one liners.”

“Oh, shut it.”

 

She approached him the next morning while he was eating breakfast -- typical Ferelden fare, meaning a grey, lumpy stew. “Alistair, can I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.” He wiped the gravy off his face with his sleeve. “What do you need?”

“Can you, uh, teach me how to fight? I wouldn’t have survived … any of the fights we’ve been in without you and … ” She blushed. “I ought to know how to defend myself. I can’t rely on other people to come to my aid all the time.”

He scratched his neck. “I don’t know if I  _ can _ teach you. I’ve never really fought dual-wielding before, and I don’t think you have the upper body strength to fight with a sword and shield.” Her shoulders slumped and he hurried to add, “I can give you a few pointers, though. I think.”

“Like what?” She perked up. 

“Uh, that longsword you use,” he started off. “It’s too heavy for dual wielding. You need a rapier, something light. The only real benefit to having two blades is controlling the fight with one and striking with the other. Also, I saw you attempt a cross-block at Ostagar -- ”

“I know, I know. I messed up, I always do.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Could you maybe spar with me a bit, so I can practice it? I know  _ how _ to do it, it’s just, in the middle of battle, I panic. When it matters.”

Alistair shrugged. “Sure, whenever you want.” 

Kallian grinned. “Good, how ‘bout now?”

 

Alistair peeled off his socks when the group stopped next to a creek. Sten and Alf went on a scouting mission to make sure it was safe to camp for the night, and he wanted to rested his poor feet in case they had to trek another mile upstream.

Leliana sat down next to him a heaved a long sigh. “All this hiking is quite draining. I hope we reach Lake Calenhad before my boots wear out.”

“Yeah. I’ve been through three pairs of sock today alone. I’m going to have to wash them soon.” Alistair rubbed his feet ruefully. The constant hiking wore his socks so thin that they didn’t provide much cushioning. And when that wasn’t the problem, it was his sock getting soaked in marsh water and shrinking around his feet. “It must be worse for you, though.”

“Hmm? How so?” She laughed. “I am walking the same distance as everyone else.”

He set his socks in the dirt next to him, away from the water, and dipping his feet into the water. “Well, you were a cloistered sister, right? I can’t imagine you have much cause for hiking and swamps.”

“You must have been a brother before you became a templar, no?” She removed her own boots and arranged them next to his. “Surely you didn’t have much cause for it either, but you are doing fine.”

“I never actually became a templar,” he explained. It was a good thing he hadn’t. It wasn’t a secret how the Chantry controlled their templars: lyrium. He couldn’t imagine giving his life to the Chantry, only to end it cast aside and lyrium-addled. “I was recruited to the Grey Wardens before I took my vows.” 

Leliana stared off into the distance. “Do you ever regret leaving the Chantry?”

“No, never. Do you?” In truth, he’d never been prouder or happier than the day Duncan recruited him.

“Yes. You may not believe it, but I found peace there like I have never known.” She smiled wistfully. “There was comfort in knowing the Maker loved us, regardless of our sins, and the Chantry helps those in need. It’s … bigger than me.”

“I suppose it is,” he said. “I didn’t get to choose that life; it was chosen for me as a child.” He chuckled a little at a memory that came to mind. “It used to get so quiet in the monastery that I would just  _ scream  _ until one of the brothers came running. I’d tell them I was just checking. You never know, right?”

She tilted her head and knitted her brow. “No. I enjoyed the quiet.”

“Suit yourself,” he replied. “The look on their face was priceless. Hey, what do you think happened to all those people we left behind in Lothering?”

She inhaled sharply. “Some will continue on to Denerim. Many will die. As the Maker wills it.”

“I thought so, but it’s hard to hear. Don’t you wish you could have stayed? To help more people, I mean.” He thought of a little boy who lost his mother. Kallian gave him a silver to buy a meal and sent him off to the Chantry. He wondered if that little boy found someone to take him north, away from the approaching horde.

Leliana shook her head. “There wasn’t much I could do for them. If the Blight isn’t stopped, everyone will die. We are serving the greater good right now. That is the way it must be.”

“So it’s okay to let some people die for the greater good?” I … ” He floundered for words. “I’m not sure about that. I felt bad leaving all those people there, all panicked and helpless.”

“You are doing what you must, Alistair.” She picked up a stone and skipped it across the creek. It skipped six times before sinking to the bottom. “There is worse to come yet. You must steel yourself, you know this.”

“I’ve never been very good at that. The steeling myself part.” he mumbled. Isolde called him a bastard under her breath when he was eight. He had known she believed him to be Eamon’s son, that she obsessed over her husband’s perceived infidelity, but he still cried that night. “I find it better to be a little bit weak. I’m alright like that. Really.”

“I don’t believe you. And it doesn’t matter. Neither of us has a choice.”

Kallian wandered over. “Hey, Sten’s back. He said we’re good to camp. You guys alright? From where I was sitting, it looked like a pretty intense conversation. Not planning a coup, are ya?”

“No, just discussing the Chantry,” Leliana said.

 

The mage tower at Lake Calenhad was a mess. They were captured in the Fade by a Sloth demon, and Kallian had to help them escape their dreams. He at least had the comfort of knowing he wasn’t the only one who needed aid, misery loved company, yada yada, but it was embarrassing. Kallian found him in the Fade, dreaming about an idyllic life with his sister and her family. He was sure she’d think he was pathetic, but when the Circle was restored and they’d returned to camp, she sat down with him.

“Hey, you doing alright?” She sat on the log next to him. “That dream … do you miss your sister?”

“Never met her. I told you, I was raised by wolves.” He prayed she’d drop it. It wasn’t something that was easy to talk about, this love for a sister he didn’t know. A hope for a family, when the Blight was over.

She didn’t drop it. “Yes, the flying, Andrastian ones? And the bitch of a mother?”

“The very ones.” He hated answering questions about his life. He thought joining the Wardens meant his past didn’t matter anymore.

Kallian touched his shoulder. “Eamon sounds … like a difficult man. From what you’ve told me, I don’t like him very much.”

“He gave me a home. He didn’t have to -- I owe him everything.”

“He made you sleep in the stables. And sent you away the moment he thought you were an inconvenience,” she hesitated. “I said ‘thought,’ mind you. You are not an inconvenience. You’re a good man, Alistair. And I don’t get to say that a lot.”

“I guess I should be honored.” Eamon hadn’t been that bad. He’d fed him and kept him clothed.

“You should.” She grinned. “I like you much better than the humans who visited the Alienage, anyway.”

“I’m rather curious about your Alienage,” he said, not for the first time. “It sounds like it was hard living there.”

“Maybe, but it was safe for the most part.” Kallian drew her knees up to her chest. “So long as the shem stayed on their side.”

“What do you mean, ‘safe?’” he pressed. She’d quizzed him, so it was only fair.

“We protected each other. We had a family or two try to leave, but they’d always come back. The humans didn’t want us in their city. They made that clear.” She spoke bitterly. “It’s getting late. We should get to bed.”

 

For once his feet didn’t ache, and he was willing to bet it was because they were travelling on an actual road and not some overgrown goat trail. But if Morrigan didn’t quit with her insults, he was going to lose his mind. “Why do you need to go on about how stupid I am all the time? I’m not stupid, am I?”

“If you have to ask, why don’t you guess the answer?” Morrigan smirked at him.

“Because it hurts my manly feeling,” he deadpanned. “All one of them.”

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll be sure to write you a letter of apology once this is all over.”

“I was educated by the Chantry. I studied history. They don’t make stupid templars.” He would bet good money he had a better education than an apostate living out in the swamp. 

“Then I am mistaken. I am  _ very _ impressed.” She didn’t look sorry at all. “I am not the one who failed my religious instruction, however.”

“I didn’t fail, I was recruited into the Wardens.” He knew she was baiting him, but he couldn’t help but take it every time.

She scoffed. “And had you not been recruited, what then?”

“I would have become a drooling lunatic, murdered the grand cleric and pranced through the streets of Denerim in my smallclothes, I guess,” he said.

Morrigan smiled. “Your self-awareness does you credit.”

He huffed. “You wouldn’t have a clue if I was smart or not. You don’t listen to a word I say.”

“Oh, I see you have some sense. Perhaps you have your Chantry to thank for something after all.”

 

Alistair brought his sword down in a broad arc for tenth time that afternoon. He was far from weary, but Kallian was dripping in sweat -- and she hadn’t cross-blocked him once. She threw up her blades and crossed them wrong. Again. He laid his sword on a tree stump. “Let’s take a break. How did you survive the Fade by yourself like that?”

“I  _ told _ you, I became a golem,” she grumbled. “Maker, I hope I never have to go back in there again. That was the worst. All those stairs.”

“I know what you -- wait, what?” Alistair choked and had to recompose himself. “Were there … stairs … in the Fade?”

Kallian blinked at him, then grinned sheepishly. “I, uh, meant the Tower, but … yeah, the Fade was pretty bad. I didn’t want to intrude on you all. That was the only way to wake you up.”

“It’s fine. Actually, it kind of helped, talking about it.” He started stretching out his legs. “What about you? What did you see?”

She sat down and stretched. “Not much. I was at Weishaupt with the other Wardens, the Blight was over.”

“Is that what you want most?”

Kallian stopped stretching and pulled her knees against her chest. “I don’t think that’s what it was doing. The sloth demon kept talking about us resting and peace.”

“Maybe whatever we dreamt about was what it took to make us complacent.” He wondered what it said about him that he was dreaming about teatime while Kallian dreamt of peace. “You broke out of it on your own, anyway. That’s better than the rest of us.”

She sighed. “It was hard to remember what I had to do, but the dream … it was sloppy. I didn’t remember travelling to Weishaupt, and when I tried, it was like there was a block on my mind. So I tried remembering how the Blight ended, and I couldn’t think straight then, either. Those dealt directly with the dream, so maybe the demon blocked them. But I saw  _ Duncan _ there.” She glanced at him sideways. “And I knew he was dead. I had to  … That’s how I got out.” 

Alistair remembered his dream. He woke up when he realized he couldn’t remember what he was doing right before he met his sister, and then Goldanna turned into a demon. He shuddered.

“I’m sorry, Alistair. I know he meant a lot to you.” She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Do you … want to talk about him?”

“You don’t have to do that. I know you didn’t know him as long as I did.” It was better not to take up too much of her time. She had this whole Blight thing well in hand, so she might decide he was more trouble than he was worth.

“He was a father to you. I understand.”

“Thank you.” He paused for a minute to gather his thoughts. “Any of us could fall in battle. I shouldn’t have lost it when so much was riding on us, with the Blight and everything. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for grieving, Alistair.” She stared at her boots wistfully. “There’s no harm done, and it’s healthy.”

“I’d like to have a funeral for him when this is all over, if we’re still alive. I don’t think he had any family to speak of.” He didn’t know how he’d do it, but he would have to go back to find Duncan’s corpse. If it was still there.

She smiled at him. “Hey, he had you.”

“I guess he did.” He took a deep breath. “I know it’s stupid, but I keep thinking it should have been me instead of him, or if I had been there I could’ve saved him. Like I said, it’s probably stupid.”

“No, I understand completely.”

They sat there in silence. She looked sad. 

Alistair sat down and picked up sword to clean it. “Have you lost anyone close to you? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just … you sound like you’ve been through this.”

“I saw plenty of death in the alienage, I guess,” she replied. 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “Really, I mean it. It was good to talk about it, at least a little.

She smiled. “Any time, Alistair.”

A glance at the horizon told them it was near sunset. Kallian jumped up. “Oh, it’s getting late, isn’t it? It’s my turn to make dinner, so I should get to that. Thanks for helping me practice.”

“Yeah. It’s not a problem.” He didn’t bother getting up. “I have first watch tonight anyway, so I should get some sleep.”

“Right,” she said. “And Alistair, I hope we can be friends.”

He couldn’t remember anyone asking to be his friend before. _ Stop it Alistair, you’re being pathetic. _ He smiled broadly in spite of himself. “Of course.

 

The assassin was lying on the ground unconscious. Kallian insisted on questioning him, so they prepared to tie him up. It turned out that they didn’t need to interrogate him -- the assassin, who introduced himself as Zevran, seemed happy to give them any information they wanted to know. When he told them that he had been bought on the slave market as a child, Alistair saw the anger bleed out of Kallian. Alistair didn’t understand why that made a difference. He’d tried to kill them, and very nearly succeeded. Kallian had a head wound that was still bleeding, despite the gauze wrapped around her forehead. Alistair’s left eye was swollen shut and his ears rang.

Then Zevran offered to join them.

Alistair hoped Kallian would say no, because the idea of travelling with someone who tried to kill them sounded like an awful one.

“You must think I’m royally stupid.” She shook her head in disbelief.

Zevran winked, actually  _ winked _ , at her. “I think you’re royally tough to kill and utterly gorgeous.”

Kallian rolled her eyes, but to Alistair’s amazement, a light pink spread across her cheeks. She’d always seemed like a reasonable person. Was all it took to trick her a sob story and a little flattery? 

“So,” she said, “what can you offer?”

“I’m skilled at many things, from stealth to picking locks,” he began. “I could warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more sophisticated now that I’ve failed. I also know a great many jokes. Twelve massage techniques, six different card games? I do wonderful at parties.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I could also fend off unwanted suitors. Warm your bed. Polish your armor. There are worse fates than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess.”

If she said anything about him warming her bed, Alistair would throw up. Morrigan was wrinkling her nose in disgust, and Leliana shifted awkwardly.

Luckily for everyone, Kallian said, “You’re laying it on a bit thick. Why don’t you tell me what expect from this.”

“Well, being allowed to live would be nice, and would make me marginally more useful to you,” he said, all business now, like he were bargaining for a suit of armor and not his life. “And if you should find you have no use for me, you let me go on my way.”

“Can I expect the same amount of loyalty from you?” She crossed her arms.

Zevran prickled at that. “I happen to be a very loyal person, up to and until I am expected to die for failing. I don’t think that’s a fault, unless you’re the type to do the same thing. Then I don’t come very well recommended, I suppose.”

This was not happening. They were not seriously considering taking Zevran with them, not when he tried to kill them only fifteen minutes before.

“Wait, you’re taking the  _ assassin _ with us now?” Alistair broke in. “Does that really seem like a good idea?”

She waved it off. “We need all the help we can get, Alistair.” 

He had to wonder why she always told him to speak up if he didn’t like something when it didn’t seem to matter one way or the other. She was going to do what she wanted to do, as was her right as leader. He just wished she would take this a little more seriously -- this was an assassin, a killer.

For once, Morrigan was in agreement. “A fine plan,” she drawled. “But I would examine your food and drink much more closely from now on.”

“That’s excellent advice for anyone,” Zevran said cheerily.

Kallian held out a hand, and Zevran reached to take it. She pulled him up. “Welcome to the team, then.” 

“I hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you until a time you choose to release me from it. I am your man, without reservation ... This I swear.”

 

Alistair stared at the snow covered battlefield with apprehension. He was glad they came, and he needed to find Duncan’s remains … and Cailan's. It wasn’t right that they were rotting out in the open. At the same time, he had no idea if he could handle seeing what became of them.

“Something about returning here makes me feel old, Wynne.”

The elderly mage raised an eyebrow. “What are you implying, Alistair?”

“What? Nothing! I just thought … ” In truth, he had no clue why he said it, but the sentiment was just there, like a monkey of his back.

Wynne fixed him with a cool stare. “You just thought I was an expert at being old and might share some sage advice.”

“I just mean I was a different person then. I believed in him, you know. That it would be a glorious battle, that we’d win … ” He swallowed a lump in his throat. 

“I did too,” she said under her breath. “I think we were all a bit younger the last time we were here.”

“Not you,” he joked in a desperate attempt to keep the mood light. “You’ve always been old.”

“With lip like that, young man, you’ll be lucky to live half my age,” she teased.

Before he could reply, he felt the tug of the song deep within him. Kallian dropped into a low crouch. She glanced back at Leliana and Wynne. “Darkspawn approach. Watch their blood.”

A small band of them seemed to materialize from the snow like ghosts. Kallian slipped out of sight, while Leliana notched an arrow. Alistair banged his shield once before charging. “For the Gray Wardens!”

 

The darkspawn roved the battlefield in small bands, and they could have avoided the skirmishes, but Kallian was determined to retrieve Cailan's armor. Alistair was grateful. For all he envied Cailan growing up, he didn’t deserve this. Once they had retrieved his greaves, he was relieved. 

He shouldn’t have been.

There was something on the bridge, a cross and a body on it. Alistair ran to the nearest bushes to throw up. The darkspawn  _ crucified _ him. Then they filled him their arrows, like target practice. He released a shaky breath and stood up, wiping his mouth off.

“Shit.” Kallian squinted at Cailan, as if it made a difference. “I … suppose the darkspawn left this for us to find. To demoralize us, maybe? Do darkspawn even do that?”

Alistair couldn’t think about the logistics of darkspawn intelligence at the moment. “He was our king. He needs a proper burial.”

Kallian didn’t respond for a long moment, then, “Yes, but once we killed the lingering darkspawn. Before we leave, definitely.”

“He was a good man. He deserves better than this.” Wynne shook her head. “It’s a shame.” 

 

***

 

Alistair fidgeted as the Redcliffe windmill came into view. If he didn’t tell them about his heritage now, Eamon would. He got used to being treated like a nobody, though, and if they treated him differently because of this …  _ No, it’s better they hear it from me. _

He grabbed Kallian by the shoulder and pulled her aside. “Look, can I talk to you for a moment? I need to tell you something I, ah, should have told you earlier.”

“Sure, what’s eating you?” she asked.

“Remember how I told you Arl Eamon took care of me after my mother died? Well the reason he did that was because my father was Maric. Which makes Cailan my … half-brother, I suppose.” He braced himself for anger.  _ Why did you hide this? You could have told us this sooner. You idiot. _

Instead, she doubled over laughing. “That’s brilliant! So … you’re not just a bastard, but a  _ royal _ bastard.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I should use that line more often.” He grinned in relief. “Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It’s just never meant meant that much to me. I was an inconvenience, a possible threat to Cailan’s rule, so they kept me a secret. I never talked about it with anyone. Everyone who knew either resented me or coddled me … even Duncan kept me out of the fighting because of it. I didn’t want you to find out as long as possible.”

“I think I understand.” She patted his shoulder.

He sighed. “Good. It’s not like I got special treatment for it anyhow. At any rate, that’s what I wanted to tell you. I thought you should should know.”

“Are you sure? No other big, dark secrets?” she teased

He pretended to consider it. “Other than an unholy love of cheese and a minor obsession with my hair, nope, that’s it. Just the prince thing.”

“So I should be calling you Prince Alistair?”

“Oh, Maker, no. I get chills just hearing it,” he said. “ So there you have it. Now can we move on, and I'll just pretend you still think I'm some ... nobody who was too lucky to die with the rest of the Grey Wardens.”

Kallian grinned. “As you command ... my prince.” 

He groaned. “I am going to regret this, aren’t I?”

 

Wynne stared at him with a solemn expression throughout their battle preparations. Alistair tried to ignore it, though he got the uneasy feeling she was comparing him to Cailan. Maybe Maric -- she was old enough to have known him. 

“Did you and Cailan speak often?” she asked. 

Alistair sighed. He figured the questions would come eventually. “You’re asking if I had a relationship with my ‘brother,’ aren’t you?”

“Yes. I wonder what he thought of you.”

“I doubt he cared much about my existence. I didn’t mean anything to him.”  _ Other than a threat, maybe. _ “Anyway, to answer your original question, no, we never spoke. Well, maybe once. Maric and Cailan came to Redcliffe once to visit the arl. I was very young then. I believe I said, ‘Greetings, Your Highness.’ He said, ‘Ooh, swords!’ and ran off to the armory. So, yes, that was the extent of our relationship. We drifted apart after that. Very sad.”

Wynne furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry. It’s just, they way you reacted at Ostagar, I thought perhaps you knew each other.”

“I am a proud Fereldan. He was my king, regardless of any shared blood,” he said. “Of course I didn’t like seeing him … like that.”

She nodded in understanding and dropped the subject.

Kallian stopped walking for a moment. “I think he did think of you as family, in some way. When he asked for Grey Wardens to light the signal, he specified you to come with me. Even when he said it wasn’t dangerous, and I told him I could do on my own if that were the case, he insisted you go with me. I think he was trying to protect you. Like when you were with Goldanna in the Fade.”

“Uh, thanks for telling me.” He squirmed guiltily. He wished he knew that before his rant about Cailan not caring about him. He probably sounded like an awful person now.

“No problem. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but it didn’t seem important. If I knew he was your brother … ” She started walking again. “I should have guessed. When I met you, I thought your face looked familiar.”

He didn’t respond and they continued preparing Redcliffe for the night’s siege.

 

“Alistair, can I talk to you a moment?” Kallian sat down next to him.

He paused in cleaning his armor and set it to the side. “Of course.”

She smiled and pulled something from her bag. “I found this and I thought you should have it.”

It was a locket, an oddly familiar one. He turned it over in his hands and his chest tightened. “My mother’s locket? Where did you find it?”

“Eamon’s study.” Her chest puffed up. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, but why did Eamon have it? I thought it was shattered. I guess he fixed it.” It must have cost a fortune to repair. It was the same one. He could see the cracks where it had been glued carefully back together.

Kallian exhaled slowly. “I don’t know why he did it, but it doesn’t matter. It’s yours.”

“Thank you, and thank you also for saving Isolde and Connor.” He unclasped the locket as he spoke and put it around his neck. “You went out of your way to save the Arl’s family, even though you didn’t have to.”

“I … ” she trailed off. “Connor didn’t deserve to suffer for what happened. He is just a child, and he was frightened at that.”

Her tone implied a less warm disposition towards Eamon and Isolde, but he didn’t press it. “Um, well, thanks. Do you mind if  _ I _ ask a question?”

“Shoot.” She tucked her legs under herself.

“You told Teagan that your husband was killed by humans. Did that have anything to do with why you became a Grey Warden?” Alistair’s eyes fell on the wedding ring she wore. He hadn’t noticed until Teagan had ... ugh … but she had worn it since they met.

Kallian rubbed it with her thumb and avoided his eyes. “Nelaros. We weren’t married for very long. I barely finished my vows before the Arl’s son Vaughan stormed in, wanting to claim his ‘right’ with the brides.” 

Alistair didn’t need to ask, not when his friend shuddered.

“I, my cousin Shianni, the other bride Valora and the bridemaids woke up in a locked room in the castle. The guards took Shianni -- ” her voice broke on her cousin’s name “ --  killed one of the girls for screaming and left me with the last two guards. Soris came in with a bow on his back and a sword. Nelaros stayed back to guard the door, and the guards killed him, just as we got back to him.” She swallowed harshly. “We fought our way through and killed everyone who stood in our way until we got to the girls. Vaughan tried to bargain for his life, but we killed him. Soris and I would be arrested either way, so what was one more murder?”

“You killed him.” The part of him that reacted instinctively with horror was drowned out by the memory of Duncan on the battlefield, waiting for help that wouldn’t come. Loghain calling the retreat and leaving everyone to die as the darkspawn bore down. The Tower of Ishal that was supposed to be secured. How did Duncan feel in his last moments? Confused, angry, betrayed? Alistair understood her anger and wondered if he wouldn’t have done the same, faced with Loghain. “I see.”

“The guards came to arrest us shortly after we got back. I insisted on taking the blame and Duncan recruited me to keep me out of the dungeons.” She was still running her thumb along the band. “I wasn’t in love or anything; marriages are arranged between Alienages to avoid inbreeding, but he didn’t deserve to die. He and Soris saved my life, and I wanted to honor that. City elves, we don’t belong anywhere. Humans call us knife-ears, and the Dalish call us cringing flat-ears, but Nelaros didn’t cringe when he died.”

“I’m sorry that happened.” Alistair squeezed her shoulder. “He sounded like a good man.”

“He was, I think.” She stared into the fire and sighed. “I was nervous about the wedding all morning. I thought I was going to puke, not that I ever told Soris that. Things were a lot better when I got to meet him for a few minutes beforehand. The first thing he said was that he’d spend the rest of his life learning to make me happy.”

Alistair wished he had half the man’s courage.

“Are your cousins alright?” he asked. 

Kallian bit her lip. “I hope so. Maybe we’ll drop by after we find your sister.”

 

Alistair approached Zevran, sensing that this was a terrible idea. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“You may,” he answered, not looking up from cleaning his gloves. “Though, I may also choose not to answer.”

“Fair enough.” Maker, this was going to be awkward. “Have you … had very many women in your time? I mean, you seem like the sort of man who would … ”

“I have indulged from time to time, perhaps, when my interest has not elsewhere.” Zevran seemed amused, rather than insulted. Alistair wondered if anything offended him.

“Right.” So, in between killing people, okay. That was fine. Definitely not creepy or anything. “Well, how do you go about wooing them? Is there a technique … or … ?”

Zevran made a strangled snorting noise. “‘Woo them?’ Are you quite serious?”

“Er, yes?” He didn’t see what was so strange. Perhaps Zevran just asked women to bed and it worked for him. “I don’t know what else you’d call it.”

He grinned. “So, let me get this straight, you have never wooed? Not once? You are wooless, as it were?”

“If you’re going to mock me, forget I asked.” He sighed. This was a bad idea. What did Zevran know of these things? The elf admitted to ‘taking his pleasures’ where he could and not worrying about it after.

As he turned to go, Zevran stopped him. “I have a personal question of my own. I understand you were raised in an abbey. Are you a religious man?”

“I was raised in a castle. I was  _ schooled _ in an abbey.” He wasn’t sure where this line of questioning was going, but he could bet he wouldn’t like it. “What about you? I guess not in your line of work.”

“What makes you say that?” Zevran asked, apparently … offended. Alistair hadn’t thought it possible. “I happen to be  _ very _ devout, as are many Antivans are.”

And the Chant happened to be against murder. “But you kill people for money.”

“And I ask the Maker for forgiveness every chance I get.”

“Then you go right on with your sinning.”

Zevran cackled. “The Maker has not objected. Why should you?”


	3. Chapter 3

“So, Alistair, you said you were raised in the Chantry, more or less,” Kallian started, and oh, no, he did not like that look. “Does that mean you never … ?”

“Never what, had a good pair of shoes?” His face was already warming even as he deflected.

She giggled and rolled her eyes. “You  _ know _ what I mean.” 

“I’m not sure I do. Never seen a basilisk?” he snickered. “Ate jellied ham? Have I ever licked a lampost in the winter?”

“Now, you’re making fun of me.” She stuck her tongue out.

Wynne gave them both a disapproving look. He could hear her objections without her saying them:  _ This is not appropriate behavior for Wardens. _ But he felt twenty-one for once, and it was nice. Zevran was watching them with vague interest. When he realized Alistair had caught him, he winked.

“Make fun of you, dear lady? Perish the thought.” He took a deep breath to recover from his laughing fit. “Well, tell me, have you ever licked a lampost in winter?”

“I was related to half the Alienage by blood, and the other by marriage,” she said. “So, no. Now you tell, Al.”

“Never had the opportunity, not that I haven’t thought about it, but … You know.” He remembered that Wynne and Zevran were watching, and tensed up. Wynne was old enough to be his grandmother, and Zevran was certainly … experienced. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about his sex life -- or rather, lack of one -- in front of them. “The Chantry isn’t the place for rambunctious boys. They raised me to be a gentleman. Is that a bad thing?”

“No, of course not.” Kallian looked surprised by the question. 

He shrugged. “Besides, I don’t want to start anything, what with the Blight and civil war and maybe going to die.”

She nodded and rummaged in her bag. “Makes sense. Anyway, I was going to surprise you all when we got back to camp, but my pack’s getting heavy, so … Presents!”

Kallian pulled a heavy tome out first. “Wynne, I found this history on the Tvinter Circle, and I thought you’d like it.”

“Most kind.” Wynne’s eyes widened at the gift. “It’s marvelous.”

“I hope you haven’t already read it,” she said, bashful. “I could return it and get something else, if you have.”

“No, no.” The older woman was already flipping through the book. “It’s a lovely thought.”

She nodded, pleased, and pulled out a tiny dragon figurine. “And for you, Alistair. I couldn’t find a golem one, but this looked like something you might like.”

Alistair turned it over in his hands. It wasn’t a golem, but he smiled all the same. Bless her for trying, and for listening. “Thanks, you spoil me.”

“I try.” She grinned. “Zev, don’t think I forgot about you.”

She hefted a gold bar into the elf’s hands, and Zevran blinked in bewilderment. “You have good taste, but there is no need to pay me, my friend. Sparing my life was payment enough.”

“You said you were poor as a Chantry mouse. That doesn’t leave you many options for after this,” she explained. “I thought this might help. You don’t want to end up a beggar in the Alienage, do you? Beside, didn’t you say something about ‘beauty in simplicity’ the other night?”

Zevran stared at his gift for a long minute, then slipped it into his pack. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Now, onward.” She started off down the road again. “Sten’s sword won’t find itself.

 

***

The West Road had been quiet for a few hours, and Alistair couldn’t sense any darkspawn nearby. Kallian and he were alone, since it was just a quick run to Denerim to see if they could find Brother Genitivi. It was the first time they’d been alone together and not in immediate danger. Now was as good time as any. He thumbed the rose in his hand, praying to the Maker that she would like it. “Kallian, here, look at this. Do you know what this is?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Your new weapon of choice?”

“Oh, absolutely, I’ll hack the darkspawn to pieces!” He waved the flower around. “Take my rose-scented vengeance!”

“Hey, sentiment can be a pretty powerful weapon.” She rested her hands on her hips. “So, what did you actually want to tell me?”

“I picked it in Lothering. I remember thinking, ‘How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness?’ I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn’t. The darkspawn would have come along and destroyed it with their taint. I’ve kept it ever since.” He rolled the flower between his thumb and forefinger. He’d had it for so long that he’d had to ask Wynne to cast an enchantment to keep it from dying.

Kallian smiled, but her brow was furrowed. “That’s a nice sentiment, but what are you trying to say?”

Alistair took a deep breath. “I thought I might … give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.”

“I … don’t know what to say.” She stepped back from him.

“I was just thinking, I’ve been doing all this complaining, and you haven’t been having a good time of it yourself.” He relaxed a little -- talking about the Wardens was easier than telling her how he felt. “You’ve had none of the good experiences of being a Grey Warden, not a word of thanks or congratulations. It’s all been fighting and death and tragedy.”

“It’s my duty,” she said quietly. “Duty is never easy, and I knew what I signed up for. Or rather, what Du … what I was conscripted for.”

“I know, but still,” he said. “I thought I would say something. Tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are amidst all this … darkness.”

“I’m not interested, Alistair.” Kallian looked away from him. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” He handed it to her. “Take it anyway. I still want you to have it.”

 

Things were tense for days after that. Kallian only spoke to him when she needed to and was careful not to touch him. When she brushed against him while they were travelling, she stiffened and apologized rapidly. 

He assured her it was alright while screaming internally. If he knew she’d be on eggshells around him for the rest of their lives, he would’ve kept his mouth shut. Any amount of pining would be better than this.

“Kallian, I know you’re not interested,” Alistair assured after her flighty behavior had gone on for a week. “I promise I won’t force issue.”

“I don’t want to lead you on,” she mumbled. “I don’t know what I did the first time.”

“You didn’t do anything. I just want us to keep being friends. I’m sorry if I made things awkward.” He prayed that he hadn’t ruined everything by giving her that blasted rose. Her friendship meant a lot more to him than a stupid flower.

 

***

 

Zevran had never been particularly subtle about his interest in Kallian, despite his encouragement of Alistair to pursue her. Alistair didn’t trust it one bit, but she seemed to buy into his flattery and took him on almost every mission. He wasn’t even sure if she picked him deliberately, or if it was a subconscious thing. Either way, travelling with the Crow made him uneasy.

They were travelling through the Brecilian forest to recruit the Dalish. If it was anything like the Circle and Redcliffe, though, there would be some sort of crisis for them to solve if they wanted help. It would be nice, for once, for somebody to say, “Of course I’ll help you, just let me pack my bags.” But that was apparently too much to ask for.

“So, I have a question for you, Zevran,” he began. “You are here in part to escape the Crows, right?”

“That is indeed true.” Zevran spun around to face him and proceeded to walk backwards. He almost walked into a tree, and Kallian groaned and pulled him over. “Ah, thank you, my dear Warden. But Alistair, you wished to ask a question, my friend.”

“So, when this is over, what do you intend to do with yourself?” Alistair wasn’t sure what  _ he _ would do, himself, but that was beside the point.

Zevran shrugged one shoulder. “It depends on your fellow Grey Warden. I’m not a free man, as it were.”

“But if you could go anywhere, where would you go?” he pressed.

“Why should I go anywhere?” The elf nodded his head at Kallian. “You Wardens are the epitome of charm and hospitality. I rather enjoy it here, yes.”

That grated on Alistair’s nerves, though he wasn’t sure why. Who Kallian slept with was her business, and he had no right to tell her to stop ... yet this was a man who had tried to kill both of them. “What are your intentions with her?”

He paused, then replied, very quietly, “You speak of her her as if she were not present. She is right over there … ”

“And she can hear everything you say,” Kallian added.  

Good, maybe she’d come to her senses. “Stop dodging the question.”

“Is this brotherly concern I detect? Or something else.” He laughed. “Perhaps you are concerned for me.”

“I just want to know your intentions. You did try to kill us, remember?” It wasn’t an unreasonable request; a year hadn’t passed since he’d ambushed them. Was Alistair supposed to believe Zevran had started anew in just a few months? The world had gone mad if so.

“And now I owe her a blood debt, seeing that she spared my life.” The corner of Zevran’s mouth twitched up. “It was brought us … closer together.”

“Is that a smirk? Are you smirking at me?” he demanded. He couldn’t tell if that meant they’d been intimate, and if Zevran was saying it specifically to bother him or if the elf was just playing games.

“I assure you, ser, that I am not smirking.” He was definitely smirking now. “No smirking here.”

“Zev, stop harassing Alistair,” Kallian scolded. “If you two keep bickering, I will turn this party around and leave you both at camp.”

“You would not do such a thing,” Zevran said. “You would miss me.”

“My aim is quite excellent, and if I threw this rock, I would not miss you.” She tossed a small stone, a pebble really, in the air and caught it in her hand. She didn’t sound serious in the least. “Behave yourself.”

“So, very cruel,” he pouted.

Kallian didn’t respond and kept walking. “When we get to the Dalish, I want none of you to make any smart comments, got it? We need them to like us.” She paused for a moment. “Alistair, can you come up here for a second? I want to talk to you.”

He sped up his pace to catch up to her. “Ask away.”

“Are you okay? You’re acting strange.” She rested a hand on his shoulder. “If you need to talk, I’m here _. _ ”

“What do you mean?” He was looking out for her best interest, because you’re not supposed to just  _ forgive _ someone for trying to kill you without a backwards glance.

“Why are you picking fights today? It’s not like you.”

“Picking fights?” Alistair didn’t know how she could think he was picking a fight, when he was asking the questions she should be asking. “With  _ him? _ Did you forget he tried to kill us?”

“I thought he deserved a second chance. Isn’t that what the Wardens are all about? Zevran has proven he’s worthy of trust.” Kallian’s voice was patient, like she were speaking with a child. 

_ Speak your mind -- no, not like that. _

Alistair crossed his arms. “Are you sure you’re not a little biased?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She stopped walking and removed her hand from his shoulder.

“Well, you’re both elves,” he pointed out. “Or maybe because you’re … you know … ”

“ _ Excuse _ me?” she demanded. “You didn’t protest  _ half _ as much when we recruited Sten, and he killed an entire farmstead of people.”

“I’m just pointing out that -- ”

“And,” she cut him off, “what I do, and with whom, on my own time is none of your business.”

“He tried to  _ kill _ us, you don’t just  _ get over _ that,” he argued. “What about the bandits? You told me that you were tired of people like that -- people who hurt and killed and abandoned others to their fates for their own self-interest. What do you think an assassin is? Except you didn’t say people. You said ‘shem,’ didn’t you?”

“You don’t get it,” she said. “You didn’t grow up in an Alienage. You don’t  _ know--” _

“You won’t tell me.” He threw his arms in the air. “Why don’t you?”

She ignored his objection, her words plowing over his. “And I can’t believe you implied -- do you think I just hopped in bed with him like that?”

They had gotten loud and their companions had ceased their chattering. Morrigan eyed them warily, and Zevran was looking anywhere but at them. Kallian turned away from all of them and stalked into the woods. Alistair waited from a smart comment from the other two, but no one said anything.


	4. Chapter 4

“Something is bothering you, yes?” Leliana asked. “Morrigan and I were speaking, and she informed me that you and Kallian were fighting. Do you wish to speak of it?”

“Not really.” He crossed his arms. “How much do you know, anyway?”

“I know that you questioned Zevran on his intentions, and she accused you of being difficult. I know that she yelled at you when it was unnecessary; you did nothing wrong, and Zevran was not offended.” She furrowed her brow. “Or as far as I could tell. He is a strange man.”

“I must have offended her.” He couldn’t imagine anything else. People didn’t get angry for no reason. “I should apologize.”

Leliana put a hand on his forearm. “If she was offended, she is too easily so. I think you should tell her that she hurt you. She should not have.”

Alistair ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to mess up our friendship.”

“Then tell her she was being unkind,” she said gently. “Wynne is lecturing her as we speak. I believe she will listen to you.”

Alistair was both touched that Leliana and Wynne came to his aid and worried that Kallian would be angry at him for this. He remember when, as a boy, one of the knights had spoken with Eamon on his behalf and insisted that Isolde treat him better. Eamon agreed to speak with her, but the woman only grew colder to him. Then Eamon sent him to the Chantry.

“This will pass, won’t it?” It made him uneasy, this idea of confrontation. “I don’t really need to speak to her, do I?”

“I believe that you should.” Leliana squeezed his arm in assurance. “Zevran tried to kill you both, and you have stake in his presence. You are concerned about her, no? Then she should not snap at you for saying as much. And she was clearly picking fights.”

“I suppose,” he replied. He would not seek her out; he could not do it.

 

It seemed that he did not need to. When he opened his tent that morning, Kallian was pacing and muttering to herself, so lost in thought that she bumped into him.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized reflexively.

She flinched. “No, don’t, Alistair; I’m the one that needs to apologize. I haven’t been a very good friend. Here, I’ve been complaining about Arl Eamon, and I’m doing the same thing.”

“What … do you mean?” Alistair felt anxiety bubbling up in his stomach at the vague language and the guilty looks. It was all very familiar. Eamon had looked just like Kallian did now when he sent Alistair to the Chantry.

“Eamon never gave you a choice in what happened to you,” she said. “He treated you like you were stupid, made all your choices for you against your wishes and he made you feel unwanted and like it was all your fault. He let Isolde bully you until the only place you’d ever known didn’t feel like home anymore. I haven’t been much better.”

The anxious feeling settled somewhat. It didn’t sound like she wanted him to leave. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean I talk over you, Alistair, and I haven’t a right to.” She stared past him, guilt written into her features. “You’ve been kind, and I’ve repaid you by treating you like a child. I told you to speak your mind, then ignored when you brought up your concerns. I’m sorry, Alistair.”

“You’re forgiven.” He crossed his arms to keep his hands from fidgetting. He got the notion Leliana would tell him he forgave too fast, but he didn’t like fighting with his friends. He had far too few for that. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have butted into your personal life.”

“There’s no need,” Kallian sighed. She gripped his shoulder, eyes troubled. “I overreacted. So … we still friends?”

He grinned. “Mm, let me think -- yes.”

 

“Kallian, I need to talk to you.” He should have told her this before, but it was a grim topic, and he didn’t particularly like to talk about it. 

She was lying on the ground in her tunic, petting Alf. “Sure thing.”

“The nightmares, how bad have they been?” He should start off with that. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was manageable. “They say it’s worse for those who join during the Blight.”

“Bad. Not as bad as the first one, but … I don’t sleep much,” she admitted.

“Ah.” She had been offering to go on nightwatch for a few weeks now, and when she didn’t … “Zevran’s been keeping you distracted, I suppose.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her to make sure she knew he was teasing.

“Mind out of the gutter, Al.” Kallian attempted a stern glare, but it fractured into a broad grin. “Not always in the way you’re thinking, but yes. He’s got a lot of stories. I’ve never been outside the Alienage before I became a Warden, let alone Ferelden.”

Alistair had to admit, it was hard to imagine Zevran just  _ talking _ . For all that the other elf stared at her hindquarters while they travelled, he’d thought that was all Zevran thought about. “And the ravenous hunger, like no meal will sate you?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” The tips of her ears reddened.

“Really?” he teased. “I saw you wolf down lunch like it was your last meal.”

“What can I say? I’m a growing girl,” she laughed.

“Oh, you’re growing alright,” he said. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that.”

She backhanded him in the chest lightly. “So, that’s what you had to tell me? I appreciate it, but from the look of you when you came over here, I thought it was something serious. You looked like you were going to somebody’s funeral.”

“Well, there’s one more thing about being a Warden that you aren’t going to like.” He hated being the one to deliver the news to her, but somebody had to. Since all the other Wardens were dead, it had to be him. “The Taint is a death sentence. Once you have it, you’ve got thirty years to live, more or less. Most Wardens go to the Deep Roads when it’s time rather than wait. Duncan told me in private that he could tell his time was coming near.”

Kallian’s face lost all color. “So, even if we survive all this … ”

“We’ll have a few decades.” He didn’t like it either, but he needed to make some attempt to comfort her. The older Wardens had done as much for him. “This is why we don’t tell recruits any of this. When Duncan told me, I was so angry. But, isn’t it worth it to stop the Blight?”

“It’s a heavy price.” She scratched Alf behind the ears absently. “We  _ are _ still going to rebuild the Wardens, but we are not hiding any of this from recruits. People deserve to know what they’re giving up.” She looked him in the eye, challenging him to argue. “There will be no more Ser Jorys.”

“No more Ser Jorys,” he agreed.

 

Kallian hummed to herself as they set out for Orzammar. 

Wynned eyed her. “You’re quite taken with him, aren’t you?”

“You mean Zev?” she asked, trying to squelsh a lovestruck grin. Alistair rolled his eyes.

The disapproval that flashed across Wynne’s face at the name was ominous. Alistair felt that they were in for for an awkward few weeks if this line was pursued.

Leliana attempted to defuse the situation. “I’d say he’s taken with her, as well. Did you see his face when she gave him those gloves?”

“I’m aware that he is taken with her,” Wynne said. She raised an eyebrow at Kallian. “I haven’t gotten any sleep since your torrid little affair began.”

The Warden’s face lit up bright pink. “Uh. Sorry.”

Alistair hadn’t been particularly bothered, but his tent wasn’t pitched right next to hers. Maybe they were loud. He didn’t know anything about sex. And he would like to not be witness to this conversation. 

“I’d noticed your blossoming romance and wondered just where you thought it was going.” She didn’t ask. Wynne spoke like Kallian were her own daughter, sneaking back in after a late night.

Kallian bristled. “I don’t appreciate your scrutiny.”

“You are a Grey Warden. You have responsibilities.” Wynne didn’t notice the oncoming arguement, because her voice was taking on a scolding tone. “And he only ever seems to have one thing on his mind.”

“I can handle my responsibilities and my relationships just fine, thank you.”

“Love is ultimately selfish.” The mage continued, “A Grey Warden cannot be selfish. It may be that you must choose between Zevran and stopping the Blight.”

“What do you want me to do, tell Zevran to go away?” she asked.

Leliana was watching the whole exchange nervously, and he doubted she would say anything to Wynne.

Alistair came to her defense. She was his friend, and he didn’t understand what Wynne was trying to accomplish. “There are no rules about having a family, or anything like that.”

Kallian shot him a grateful smile, and added, “He helps with everything.”

Wynne pursed her lips and shook her head in disbelief.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mention of sexual abuse, mention of depersonification
> 
> Also, this chapter is very angsty. Emotional labor is hard on people.

Goldanna wasn’t at all what he’d hoped she’d be. Alistair imagined a happy reunion, where she’d wondered about the brother she might’ve had. They would catch up on each other’s lives. Tell stories. He’d imagined a million different things they might have in common, from humor to embarrassing stories.

The woman in front of him was bitter and angry. She blamed him for their mother’s death. Maybe she should.

“And who’s this woman?” his sister groused. “Some servant of yours? Figures. You tell whatever fancy nobles you run with that you got neices and nephews that ain’t livin’ right. In fact, why don’t tell your servant to -- ”

“Shut up.” Kallian tossed a sack of coins at Goldanna. “Take it. That’s all you care about anyway.”

She slid her hand into his. “C’mon, Alistair. There isn’t anything here for you.”

“Just a moment,” he said. He searched Goldanna’s face for his own features, any hint as to what their mother looked like. But when he compared his face to hers, they had nothing in the world in common. He felt Kallian’s hand in his own, tugging him toward the door and saw the look of disdain Goldanna had for the elf. In a low voice, he said, “Kallian is not my servant. She’s my friend. Goodbye.”

“Good riddance.” Goldanna’s voice followed them out the door. “Don’t come back here.”

Back on the street, Kallian gave him a once over, as if she were checking for physical injury. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He regretted the whole expedition. His mind had already begun its usual process of making excuses:  _ Goldanna hasn’t spent years wondering what it would be like to have a family like you _ . He wanted to stop doing that. It was exhausting, and a very small piece of Alistair, the part that still loved him, knew his sister didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry she talked about you like that.”

“Don’t be. I’ve heard it all my life, but the apology is appreciated.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “You don’t need her. You have others who care about you.”

“I thought I’d have a family,” he said. All the hopes he’d had of a normal life after the Blight were dashed. “Maybe she was right.”

Kallian looked him in the eyes. “You  _ have _ friends that care for you. I’m one of them.”

Alistair hugged her. “Thanks.”

 

The Alienage was one of the most depressing places he’d seen. The houses were held together with rusted nails and rotted wood covered the glassless windows. Barefoot children with dirty faces ran through the streets, beggars and cripples held tin cups out and thanked the group when Kallian dropped silvers in. “May the Ancestors guide your path.”

She stopped in front of one door and hesitated, then knocked three times.

A young elf open the door. His gaze rested on her for several minutes. “Cousin, you’re alive.”

Kallian hugged the elf. “Soris. Thank the Maker you’re okay. I heard about the riots and the plague and -- ”

“I’m alright.” Soris pulled back and examined her. She’d picked up a few scars since Alistair met her. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

Alistair was torn between happiness for his friend and bitter longing for Goldanna to have met him like this.

“How’s Father? And Shianni and Valora?” She clapped her cousin on the shoulder. “I hope married life has treated you well.”

Soris’ face was strained. “Ah, well, it did, but Valora got sick. We had no idea -- the two of us went down to the clinic to get checked, since Uncle Cyrion was ill. I didn’t think she was really sick, but they took her into quarantine.”

“Who?” Kallian’s brow furrowed.

“The Tevinter magisters that came down to help with the plague,” Soris explained. “Shianni could tell you more about it.”

They found Shianni outside the clinic, shouting angrily. 

“Shianni,” Kallian’s face broke into a wide grin. “I’m home.”

It was strange, he thought, that this decaying place was still home to her. Jealousy that she had a home where she belonged gnawed at him, and guilt over said jealousy needled him.

Shianni, for her part, threw her arms around Kallian. “You’re alive. When we heard what happened at Ostagar -- and no word from you -- we thought the worst.”

“I’m here.” 

“You are Shianni?” Zevran asked with curiosity beyond asking if that was her name. He wanted to know what she meant to the Warden.

Leliana, too, tilted her head to the side. All three of them had seen a representation of her, pulled from the Warden’s mind, but only Alistair knew who she was. Kallian’s cousin, who stood up to a young nobleman and was punished brutally for it. He was glad, at least, to see that Vaughan had not crushed her spirit.

“Yeah, why?” Shianni rested a hand on her hip and wiped her brow. 

Zevran shrugged. “Merely curiousity. My dear Warden has mentioned you a time or two, and I wished to make your aquaintance.”

Andraste, flirting was a bad option. Shianni tensed.

Kallian cleared her throat. “Cousin, Soris mentioned a riot.”

“Oh, yes, after your wedding, extra guards were posted, a curfew was established and they cracked down on the ‘no weapons’ rule.” She looked irritated by that. “Can’t even have kitchen knives anymore, and they started arresting elves for vagrancy. Well,” she smiled humorlessly, grim and proud, “you can imagine we didn’t like  _ that _ .”

“A wedding?” Zevran mused. “So you have a secretive side after all.”

Alistair wanted to slap him, but restrained himself. Kallian hadn’t told him, so how could he know? Nevertheless, a desire to protect his friend from her past manifested in anger at Zevran for failing to know his word would cut. 

“It didn’t go well.” Kallian had begun rubbing the ring on her finger again.

“You left him at the alter, hm?” 

There was an exchange happening below the words, Alistair realized. Zevran’s words were light, but the three elves looked at each other with a silent understanding that made Alistair fearful for his friend.

_ I’ve heard it all my life, _ she told him when he apologized on Goldanna’s behalf. The day he met her, she shown him her ears, like she expected it to make a difference. Was this simply part of life for elves? To have your very personhood violated? His anger at Zevran changed direction. He was angry at Anora and Cailen for not knowing what happened in their own city. He was angry at every king before them who’d been blind to the suffering of its citizens. Alistair caught himself thinking that if he were king, he would see this never happen again.

 

***

 

Anora looked like the cat that swallowed the canary as she sauntered into the room. 

Kallian’s face blanched as she processed what had occured.

_ The queen betrayed us. _

“Your father was going to kill you!” Her hands shook, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Anora had promised aid, and if the Landsmeet turned against them now, they were lost. They’d come so far.

“Do you know that?” Anora rested a hand on her hip. “Really? You could have proven yourself an ally to Ferelden. Unfortunately for you all, you did not.”

Loghain’s face, which had been drawing up as Kallian listed his crimes, relaxed. “Who here can say that Anora is not fit to lead? And who can say that Alistair is?” He looked lovingly on his daughter. “Anora will lead us through this crisis, and I’ll lead her armies.”

They’d both made their cases, and it was time for the Landsmeet to decide.

“South Reach stands with the Wardens,” Arl Bryland called out. Then, quieter, “Maker help us all.”

Bann Alfstanna leaned over the bannister and made eye contact with Kallian as she declared, “Waking Sea stands for the Wardens.”

“Dragon’s Peak for the Wardens!”

“I stand with Loghain,” said an elderly nobleman. “We’ve no hope of winning otherwise.”

Alistair counted up the vote mentally. Three for them, one for Loghain, and Western Hills had yet to cast their vote. They needed a supermajority to win, or nothing had changed and that meant Loghain was still in charge. Maker turn his gaze on them if that happened. 

Across the hall, Anora wore a smug expression, as if she expected to win, but her face was pale and her eye panicked. Beads of sweat rolled down Loghain’s forehead. Arl Eamon leaned heavily on the railing. The whole room watched the nobles of the Western Hills talk amongst themselves. Arl Wulff looked up and faced the room. Then, in a clear voice, he said, “The Blight is the most important threat here. Western Hills stands with the Grey Wardens.”

He felt giddy with relief.

Kallian looked like she might collapse. “Loghain,” she said, “step down gracefully, please. You were their hero once.”

“You’re all traitors!” Loghain shouted. His eyes were wild. “You’d all have our country handed to those blasted Orlesians.”

“The Orlesians are not the threat, Loghain.” Kallian gave the man a pained look. “You are. Please, I’ve heard stories of you since I was a little girl. I don’t want to kill you, if I can help. But I cannot let you continue to sell your own people into slavery. If this must be settled, call off your men and we’ll settle this honorably.”

“Very well, Warden,” Loghain said. “Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?”

Alistair took one look at the two of them and knew she couldn’t win. Loghain was twice her size and battle-trained. He’d been fighting longer than she’d been alive. His heavy armor alone would knock her down if he charged her. Kallian was dexterous, but her strength lay in her words. In a one-on-one fight with nowhere to hide, Loghain would defeat her easily. And yet, she would not send another to fight in her place.

He stepped forward. “That would be me.”

“Let’s test the mettle of your would-be king, then.” Loghain readied himself. “I wonder if there’s anything of Maric in you, boy.”

He didn’t care if there was anything of Maric in him. If anybody had the right to call themselves his father, it was Duncan.

 

Executing Loghain felt like a release. Anora screamed when Alistair’s sword came down on the former war hero’s neck as if it had been her own head, and despite everything, he felt a pang of pity for her.

Then Eamon approached them. “Good duel. So, it’s decided: Alistair is king.”

“What?” He panicked. “This wasn’t decided, was it?”

“You all heard him,” Anora shrieked. “He abdicates his claim to the throne.”

The room broke into chaos.

Bann Alfstanna motioned for everyone to calm down. “We need a king. The Warden won the dispute, so she can decide.”

Kallian’s eyes went wide, the same terrified expression she’d worn in Orzammar when she realized her actions would effect the dwarven kingdom for years to come. He felt an overwhelming sense of pity for her. One year ago she had been a nineteen year old on her wedding day; now she was wrapped up in all the politics of Fereldan, facing would-be assassins, solving centuries-old disputes and making kings. He didn’t envy her those choices.

The nobles locked their gazes on her as she stuttered out, “I-I need a moment.”

She studied both of their faces, his and Anora’s. “Al … would you be ready to be king, if I chose you?”

“No. Yes.” Alistair had no idea what answer was expected of him, or even which one he should give. “If I had to, I’d manage.”

“Anora, what makes you a better candidate?” She watched the queen with care.

Anora sputtered at the question. “Who do you think has been ruling the kingdom for the past five years? It wasn’t Cailen.”

Kallian traced the ring on her finger with her thumb, and Alistair knew exactly what she was about to do. Anora had been queen for five years, and yet, she’d done nothing to help her most vulnerable citizens. The apology in her eyes when she met his gaze only confirmed it. His heart dropped to his stomach. There was a long pause. Everyone looked tense, like they didn’t know the answer. “I choose Alistair.”

Eamon had promised … No, Eamon had never promised Alistair anything. Eamon had  _ ordered _ that the crown was not in his future.  _ Teagan, the unthinkable has happened. _ The affection Alistair had for the man dwindled.

“It’s settled then,” Eamon said quickly. “Anora, do you abdicate your claim to the throne and that of your descendants?”

“What kind of question is that?” Anora spat. “I will not.”

“Then you’ll be executed, is that what you want?” Eamon demanded.

The former queen snarled at him. “I will not give up my pride.”

Kallian’s horrified expression didn’t reach her eyes, which were dull and lifeless. Very softly, she said, “You have to make a choice, Al.”

A slow anger built up in him. The one thing he didn’t want more than anything, and here he was, king of Fereldan. What had given her the right? They would be having words later, but right now they had Anora do deal with. “Do we have to kill her? Can’t we just -- just lock her up for now. We’ll find somewhere to send her later.”

Anora froze. “I -- thank you, Alistair. You show me mercy that I … would not have shown you.”

As she was led away by guards, his chest seized up. She would have had him executed. He was reminded of something Zevran had said months ago, after learning of Alistair’s heritage.  _ That’s the lovely thing about kings. They make good business, either as clients or as targets. _

Was this his life now?

The nobles filed out of the throne room, ostensibly to prepare their troops. Then their companions left the two of the alone.

 

“How could you do that to me?” Alistair asked, minutes after the last lord had left. “You knew I didn’t want to be king!”

“Would you have preferred I let them crown Anora?” she deadpanned.

_ You show me mercy that I … would not have shown you. _

“No,” he muttered. “She would have killed me, and that would have been bad.”

“I know I said I wouldn’t do this, but … ” She looked like she’d aged ten years in an hour. There were bags under her eyes, and her shoulders drooped. If he were honest with himself, the Blight had aged both of them. “Alistair, I won’t let her hurt you. Nothing else factored into my decision. I’m sorry.”

When he didn’t answer, she hung her head. “It’s … it’s okay if you hate me for this. I understand. For what it’s worth, I really do think you’ll be a good king.”

She walked away, and he caught her arm. “Kallian, just promise me one thing.”

“What is it?” Her smile was paper-thin and her blue-green eyes were wet with tears. He didn’t think she’d cried once since he’d met her.

“You’ll be there when I need you, right?” He didn’t want to do this alone, and Eamon’s eagerness to execute Anora unsettled him.

Kallian heaved a long sigh, then smiled weakly. “Of course, Al.”

Until the day he died, he wouldn’t tell a soul he heard her sobbing in the hall. And he knew she wouldn’t let on that she had most certainly heard the king of Fereldan break down alone in the throneroom.

Maker, this country had better be grateful when they were done.

 

***

 

The night before the battle, Alistair couldn’t sleep. Morrigan had given him a predatory look as he slipped to his room, and he didn’t want to think about what it meant. He’d given the order to march on Denerim in the morning, and the weight of the decision was heavy on his shoulders. He had made the order with little thought but that they could abandon the city and her people. He hoped he hadn’t doomed his men. And Riordan’s revalation buzzed in his head. Someone was going to die tomorrow. A selfish part of him wanted it to be Riordan, but he knew that might not be. The reluctant acceptance in Kallian’s eyes when she volunteered to be the sacrifice scared him. He didn’t want to do this king thing without his best friend, and her almost-automatic acceptance of the sacrifice, the exhaustion as she offered her own life, broke something in him.

His door swung open and Kallian with the same dead-eyed expression she’d been wearing for days now. “Alistair, we need to talk.”

“Of course.” Alistair tried to be light-hearted, but the situation was grave. He’d expected her to pay him a visit, probably to tell him something about how he was the king, so leave the Archdemon to her. And he’d tell her there was no way.

“We’re friends, right?” She said it with shaky uncertainty.

He didn’t know what she was about to ask him, just that he wouldn’t like it. “Yes, why?”

“What if I told you there was a way to avoid dying tomorrow?” The question was asked haltingly.

Alistair tried to keep a controlled reaction. This was the miracle he’d been hoping for. “You mean with the Archdemon, right? What?”

“It’s a magic ritual,” she choked on the words.

Kallian had never been opposed to magic before. It made him uneasy. 

“Something Morrigan cooked up, no doubt,” he said. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to sleep with her.”

Alistair burst out laughing. “Oh, Maker, you had me there. Seriously, what do I need to do?”

Her face was contorted in pain. She’d meant it.

He was reminded of the conversation they’d had more than six months ago, about whether either of them had had sex before, and their innocent curiousity. It felt so long ago. “You’re not joking, are you?”

She wasn’t looking at him. “I’m not going to lie to you. It … will produce a child.”

It felt like all the air had been knocked out of him. A bastard prince. Just like him. “Did she say what she intended to do with it?”

“The child will have the spirit of an Old God?” Kallian winced as she said it. 

“Oh, here I was worried about having a bastard running around, but now I have to worry about it being some kind of dragon?” He sat down at the desk and rested his head in his hands. “I trust you, but this is  _ Morrigan _ . Do you really think this is a good idea?”

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Kallian sounded congested when she said, “I’m not making this decision for you. I won’t try to persuade you.”

“If I don’t do it … ” He trailed off.

“Don’t tell me tomorrow,” she said. “It’s selfish, but I don’t want to know. Promise me whatever happens, you’ll let me take the final blow.”

“Kallian, please, you’re not thinking clearly -- ” 

She cut him off. “I am. Fereldan  _ needs _ you, Alistair. It needs king who has seen suffering and would aleviate it. Anora can’t do that.” Kallian inhaled and exhaled slowly. “I won’t ever ask you to do anything again. Let me at the son of a bitch.”

 

At the gates of Denerim they were forced split up. Alistair, Sten and Wynne would be following Kallian to Fort Draken. As she wished, he did not tell her of his decision. The others would hold off the hordes.

Kallian scratched Alf behind the ears. “It’s alright. Be a good boy while I gone, okay?”

The Mabari whined and nuzzled her leg. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “If anything happens to me, Sten promised he’d take care of you, didn’t he?”

The dog whined again, but sullenly rejoined Oghren.

Each of their friends wished them good luck.

“Try not to get squished up there,” was Shale’s parting wisdom.

“I wish I were going with you,” Leliana said. “We are so close, I know we will win.”

Kallian smiled. “We will. The Blight ends here.”

Morrigan approached her warily. To everyone’s surprise, she wrapped her arms around Kallian. “Live gloriously, my friend.”

Zevran waited to approach them until they had given up and turned to exit the gates. He pulled Kallian to the side and cupped her face in his hands, examining her. “So, at the end, you do not want me by your side.”

She placed a hand over his. It was such an intimate moment, Alistair wanted to turn away. He did not want to see this side of his friend, though he once had, so long ago, when he’d given her that blasted rose. 

“Not this time, Zevran,” she said. “I don’t want you in danger.”

_ She so sure she’s going to die. She doesn’t want him to see. _ He wasn’t sure if the calm, exhausted woman in front of him was better than the melancholy that had hung over her for the past week.

“So, now you worry about my health,” he laughed joylessly. Then, with complete seriousness, he said, “To be by your side, I would storm the Black City. Never doubt it.”

“Whatever happens, I love you.” She kissed his cheek.

Alistair knew her well enough to know she hadn’t said a thing to Zevran. It didn’t matter, though. The assassin knew this was her goodbye. “Cruel to the end.”

There was no point in leaving the elf to wait, anticipating news of her death. He promised not to hint anything of his plans to Kallian -- he would spare her that choice, at least -- but he never said he wouldn’t tell anybody else. Alistair waited until she’d passed through the gate and grabbed the elf by the shoulder. “I promise you, she is coming back.”

Zevran searched his face, then said, “I’ll hold you to that, my friend. Just make sure you  _ both _ come back.”

 

The Archdemon lay heaving, in pain. Panic gripped Alistair. This was it -- the end they’d been working toward. He dropped his sword somewhere on the battlefield. He scanned for it -- there, twenty feet in front of the Archdemon. Fate was laughing at him.

Kallian stood beside him, sword in hand. “Well.”

“It was an honor to fight by your side.”

“Same.

He took a step forward, but she slipped a foot around his ankle. “Not so fast, Your Majesty.”

He stumbled and caught himself just before he hit the ground

She darted past him and drove her sword into its head. There was a howl and a blinding flash of light, and Kallian crumpled to the ground.

Alistair ran and grabbed her, checking for vital signs. “Morrigan had better not have lied to me.”

He felt her heartbeat faintly against his fingertips. “Thank the Maker.”

Kallian’s eyes fluttered open and she sat up, using Alistair to prop herself up. Her breathing was still shallow and she looked bewildered. Wynne and Sten made their way across the battlefield. Sten reached them first. He knelt down and gripped Kallian’s shoulder.

“You led us this far, kadan.” For the first time since he’d met the qunari, he smiled. “I never doubted you.”

Wynne cast a healing spell and pulled both Wardens into a hug. “I am proud -- infinitely proud -- to call you my friend. Both of you.”

Kallian smiled wryly at Alistair. “That Archdemon had better be good and dead, because let me tell you, Al, I am  _ not _ doing that again.”


End file.
